


every other freckle

by crownedcirce



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Baz has a kink for Simon's freckles and we all know it, Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 04:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14887637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcirce/pseuds/crownedcirce
Summary: It isn’t the first time he’s ended up on my bed and it isn’t the first time I’ve ended up on my back, pinned to the mattress with him hovering above me.





	every other freckle

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to have a plot, I swear but here I am crash tackling my first Carry On fic, kicking down the door and presenting you with some smut. 
> 
> Imagine for a few moments that dating Simon Snow actually has been the erotic gropefest Baz had always imagined, okay?
> 
> The title is from "every other freckle" by alt-j
> 
> I'm a little nervous but let me know if you like it! I'm a bit worried about the whole first person thing too so any criticism on that is actually welcome, i'll take note. Comments are always very much appreciated
> 
> anyway! come yell at me on tumblr @ punktsuki x

**Baz**

  


It definitely isn’t the first time we’ve ended up like this. It isn’t the first time Snow has ended up on my side of the room. It isn’t the first time he’s ended up on my bed and it isn’t the first time I’ve ended up on my back, pinned to the mattress with him hovering above me. 

  


He does that thing where he makes me work to meet his lips. Pulling back slightly, teasingly, each time I get close to capturing his mouth with my own. 

  


It is the first time though, that I’ve ended up half naked with the heat of Snow’s chest pressed up against the biting cold skin of my own. It is the first time that I push him back just enough that I flip us over and pin him down instead. The first time that I reach for the button on his trousers, the first time that I’ve ever been in any sort of control in these situations… even though I can feel my self-control slipping away into the periphery of my consciousness. It’s the first time that Snow has impatiently shoved his freckled hand down the front of my own trousers, drawing out a hiss, sucked in between the clench of my fangs. It is the first time “touch me, Baz,  _ please _ ” has been half-whined, exhaled hot against my parted lips. Mouthbreather. 

  


Crowley, I am weak for this. For him. 

  


I’m not even sure he knows what he’s asking for. 

  


His chest is covered in a constellation of moles and freckles that congregate in universes the sun has kissed. His shoulders, collar bones, his ribs, his hip bones. I know this, of course. I know his skin better than my own. I’ve watched him for years and even still the image of the bare planes of his pale chest takes hold of my breath and yanks it right out of my mouth. I’m breathless and I haven’t even touched him yet. Crowley I want to. I want to plant my mouth on every other freckle, trace him with my tongue, taste the salt of his skin until I want to taste something more. I want to claim him, I realise. Replace every sun-kissed mark on his skin by marks of my own, marks placed by a being closer to the moon than the sun. 

  


I do. 

  


I start with his neck. I aim for the mole there that I always find myself distracted by. It’s in line with the thrum of his jugular, which is far too close to the surface of the pale skin on his throat. He doesn’t need to know that. He gasps out, leaning his head back probably with way too much trust. I’m sure it’s probably crossed his mind; my thirst for him. But, now is not the time to confirm my desire for his blood. I simply want to revel in the desire for just his skin against mine. I want to show him that. I mouth along his throat, licking and sucking at tiny freckles that are dotted down to his collarbone. I graze my teeth a little, I threaten a bite and a shiver erupts through his spine that I am too pleased with to admit. It’s just a tease though, and I watch him squirm beneath me. It’s kind of like watching a caught fish jolt around, watching it and being mesmerised despite the fact that you know you’re about to take him home and eat him. 

  


I continue kissing his skin gently, perhaps being over-cautious. Maybe I am being  _ too gentle _ , but I wasn’t about to ask, not now, when despite whether I’m being too careful or not, I can feel Snow’s half-hard cock pressed against my thigh. Snow rolls his hips, helpless, bucking up into me. This forces more friction between us, between his hand and the bulge in my pants that he has loosely gripped onto through the outside of the fabric. Fuck. 

  


I kiss his mouth again. It’s desperate this time, not as calculated. One of his hands ends up tangled in my hair, his whole body grinding and writhing beneath me. I break away, huffing into his ear, testing and learning his body, learning how he reacts. “I could do this for hours, Snow,” I say low, and husky into his ear. My breath is hot when it rarely has been ever before and my voice is gravely and almost unrecognisable even to myself. I sound pretty wrecked in all honesty. I’d like to wreck him, though. 

  


“Baz…” Snow pants out. It’s the way he has done it a thousand times in my dreams before. I have to blink a few times just to make sure he’s really there, really looking up at me, his eyes half-lidded, face flushed and undignified. My always-still heart flips inside my chest. I bury my face in his neck and let out a groan. It’s all I can do to just catch a moment, to breathe, to separate the two different hungers threatening to take control of my senses. One tugs at my throat and at my fangs, while the other tugs at my heart and tells me that I want Snow to tug on something else entirely. 

  


I grind down on him now, letting my body know which hunger I intend to give in to. “You’re so hard,” I breathe out into the crook of his neck, licking and sucking hard at a freckle there. He lets out a gasp. Pleased with myself, I find another spot to work at, leaving a trail of love bites along the line where his uniform-shirt collar would normally rest. I smirked to myself, knowing that he’d have to adjust the collar slightly next time he got dressed to ensure nobody would see my marks. Pride bloomed inside my chest just as the burst blood cells bloomed beneath his pale skin at the thought of somebody else seeing these marks, knowing that Simon Snow belonged to somebody. Belonged to me. 

  


Mine. 

  


His pants come off and so do mine. I sit him up and I straddle his hips. He looks dazed, eyes glassy and golden hair more messed up than his usual level of dishevelment. I’m aching at this point, as I pin his hands to his sides. I stare into those eyes that are both stupefied and very present, only able to focus on me. I smile. I’m pretty sure my face is a little flushed too, though not as impossibly red as his. I grind down again, both of us naked and bare now, my cock rubbing between my stomach and the hot flesh of his cock, smearing pre-come over the both of us. Snow shudders violently underneath me. 

  


“Oh, fuck…” he curses. 

  


“Alright?” I ask. He knows what I mean. I don’t have many other words right now but he gets it and he nods, lashes fluttering as I roll my hips, seeking as much friction as I can take. 

  


I let his left wrist go, reaching down in between our bodies and wrapping my fingers around Snow’s cock. His breath hitches and I lose every other thought I’ve ever had that didn’t feature him as the barycenter they orbit around. I rub my thumb over the slit of his cock, circling the head, soaking up the way he chases my hand and silently begs for me to let him slip into release. He’s beautiful. 

  


“I want you to look at me,” I say low and slowly. “I want you to look at me, love, and I want you to come with me,” I say as I grip myself in my hand as well. It’s not going to take much, really. I can’t pretend that it would. 

  


I jerk us both hard and fast, breath rattling and hands shaking but he says nothing. He just pants and moans and buries his face into my shoulder. He shakes, whimpers, and bucks his hips up into my hand. His body spasms and grows tense. He throws his head back and I use my left hand to tangle my fingers into his hair and pull, returning his hazy gaze back to my own. “Look at me,” I repeat.

  


When he comes, his eyes look as though they are both empty and seeing just me. My hand is suddenly hot and wet and sticky and I shudder with pleasure, jerking us both still. He moans through his orgasm and trembles into overstimulation. He bites his lip. I want to bite it for him. 

  


Every muscle in my body seizes, I’m sure I fucking  _ whimper _ as I rock into him and into my own hand. 

  


“Simon,” I gasp as I follow him into a pleasurable heat. 

  


He’s the one holding me up now as I sag into his freckled chest. His hand runs through my hair, damp with nervous, euphoric sweat. 

  


“Shower?” He asks, still only able to muster one word at a time apparently. 

  


“Are you saying I stink, Snow?” I tease. But I nod too, smiling gently. “When my legs work again, that will be nice, love.” 


End file.
